Cursing

As the visits went on and Ellie got older, she was able to tell me more.  I could see Ellie changing.  I am a strong believer in Mother’s Intuition.  I knew something was wrong.  She would fight harder and harder each time we would have to go to visitation.  She didn’t cry as much, but the build-up was such that we started preparing nearly a day early. 

Now this could be hard because DP could easily not show or cancel.  Then Ellie had to question “why doesn’t my dad love me?” “why does he keep doing this?”… But the preparation, as far as just talking about what was going to happen, how short it was going to be, that I would be there when it was over, etc, became part of our weekly lives as well.  When she did go, my talkative Ellie would clam up when she got home.  The question of “what did you do?” was always answered by “nothing.”  I would try to push it a little, “You had to do something.” “I don’t want to talk about it.” … and that would be that. 

DP started to change too.  The once tolerable hand off of Ellie where he would come into Fred Meyers, Ellie would look at me with crocodile tears and ask, “do I really have to go?” And I would say hi to him -  got worse.  He didn’t even walk up to us anymore.  It was literally as if he wanted us to see him walk in the door of the Fred Meyers, and then Ellie to leave me and walk to him.  I refused to play along with this game.  This was teaching Ellie nothing good in the manners department and she was already so reluctant to go, there was no way I would push her to him.  Each time he tried it, I motioned him over.  I would at least be civil with a hello and Ellie would get one last hug in. 

 He also started to push the time.  Now every single time he got her, he was 15 minutes late.  I refused to go late.  I hope at some point this resonates with Ellie, though right now, I don’t know how.  She didn’t understand if we knew he would be late, why we had to be on time.  I was trying to teach her that promptness is good and hope it makes sense sometime.

We used to play a game while waiting for him.  We could see a mirror from the place that we sat and we would try to figure out if it was going to be him or not by looking at the mirror and watching the next person come in.  It seemed to pass the time a little and was just our thing to do. 

As far as returning her, he went well beyond the 15 minutes.  20, 25 minutes was not unreasonable.  I didn’t get texts or phone calls saying he was running late or that he would be there soon or anything.  My fear every night was that he wasn’t coming back with her.  I would sit on the Fred Meyer bench and anxiously await a bobbing little head coming toward me.  It is amazing how slowly 25 minutes can go by.

I found out later, from Ellie, that he did this on purpose.  He wanted to show me who was boss and that he didn’t have to play by the rules.  It makes total sense.  Being late gets to me.  But, to have your child say to you, “Mommy, my daddy says he doesn’t have to be there at 5, because he knows it makes you angry and he doesn’t have to play by the rules.” And not talk bad about him, is a truly tough thing to do. 

The other thing that changed drastically was where the drop-offs happened.  The Fred Meyers that we went to had 2 double-doors that automatically opened.  In the middle of those was a fully-enclosed area where carts were kept as well as a few video games and such.  Originally, DP would walk Ellie into the bench where I would be sitting, beyond the second double doors.  He stopped doing that.  His new thing was to walk her through the first set of double doors, whisper something in her ear and let her walk the rest of the way by herself.  This was every single time.  When I asked what he had whispered, Ellie told me that she couldn’t tell me. 

The feeling in my gut was so strong that something was wrong I wanted to explode.  As much as I tried to explain it to people, and I heard the “yes, that is horrible” it just didn’t settle me. 

Asking my lawyer what we could do did little good.  He had not paid child support, but that would get us nowhere.  We could go back to court and probably get him for contempt for not paying ½ of her medical needs and not paying attention to the times. But, we couldn’t bring any or my feelings in, couldn’t bring in anything that Ellie had said, because that was hearsay.  We were really at in a bad situation. 

It was around this time that Ellie turned 5 and she was diagnosed with precocious puberty.  I felt it my duty to call DP and let him know about this.  We literally had not spoken since that night at Izzy’s.  He answered my call and I tried to explain in a very calm matter what was happening.  He became erratic and insisted that he be at every appointment that I had lined up at Doernbecher’s for the next week.  Well, I remarked, that would not be wise, seeing as the two of us don’t get along and Ellie doesn’t enjoy her time with you, I only saw that as being MORE stressful than what was already happening.  I told him I would keep him informed of everything and practically begged him to be nicer to me when were at Fred Meyer.  I also asked for a check of his watch.  I explained he was teaching Ellie poor habits.  That got a laugh.  I didn’t expect much.

At this point the texts started.  DP started texting me at odd hours of the night with blank texts or texts that simply didn’t make sense.  The texts would be 5-10 minutes apart and have things like “8 Her 90 m” on it.  And then 10 minutes later “I can’t” and then 10 minutes later a blank text.  One could say there is the mistaken, misdialed text, but I put this nowhere on the same page.  These came at midnight or after.  And several nights a week. 

Dealing with this, Ellie just getting sick and me trying to figure out how to get him either out of her life or a better father, my head was clouded.  And, I couldn’t get away from the feeling in the pit of my stomach. 

******

I picked Ellie up on a Sunday, 5:20, late as usual and she was as quiet as a mouse.  I asked her what they had done for the weekend and her response was “nothing.”  “Come on, Ellie, you had to do something.” I pushed.  “I don’t want to talk about it.” Came the response. 

It was very quiet in the backseat as we drove home.  I was trying to figure out how to handle it because something obviously had happened.  When we got home, Ellie looked at me and told me she was tired and was going to get ready for bed.  Anyone who knows my daughter, knows that this is the oddest behavior for her.  Sure, she is really good about going to bed when asked, but she certainly will never voluntarily go to bed.  I stopped her right there.

I sat her down on the couch, it was time for a heart to heart. 

“Ellie, remember you can tell me anything.” I started off.

“No, mommy, I can’t. I am just going to go to bed. Okay?”

I didn’t want to make things worse than they obviously were for her, so I offered to help her get ready – asked if she wanted a bath or to have dinner and helped her along the way.  But there was something eating at her. 

Lying down with her, I felt her tiny body start to cry. 

“Ellie, what’s wrong?” I asked. 

“Why is Mommy a bad word?” She asked.

“What?”

“Daddy says that Mommy is a bad word and I can’t use it.  Every time I do, I get in trouble.”

I asked for a deeper explanation trying to keep my head on straight once again.  For “his weekend with Ellie” DP had picked her up and taken her to his friends house.  Ellie didn’t know these people and was left there while DP went to work (odd that he was working and I was seeing no money from that… but I digress and we will get back to that at some point).  When he finally came back that night, Ellie said she wanted to go home, could he text “Mommy” and have me come get her?

At that point, DP declared a new rule.  Mommy was now a bad word and if it came out of Ellie’s mouth again, she would be in trouble.  Anytime around him, it was not to be used.  She asked for clarification but couldn’t figure out how to do it without using “mommy” and got in trouble time after time after time that night.  She said she cried the whole night through.  The next morning she was taken back to these people’s house and left there again.  When it was time to drop her off, DP came and got her and brought her to Fred Meyer. 

That was it.  I was done.  Whether we had enough to go on or not, I wanted to go back to court.  In my mind, this was emotional abuse.  Not being able to talk about the person you are with 98% of the time is ridiculous.  And the fact that she was not willing to tell me what “trouble” meant scared me even more. 

I called my lawyer.